


In una sera così serena

by imminentinertia



Series: December 2018 [3]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life, baking recipe controversy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/pseuds/imminentinertia
Summary: Isak has had quite enough of Christmas and it's only December 13.





	In una sera così serena

**Author's Note:**

> SKAMenger Hunt prompt filled: Santa Lucia

 

Isak is done with all his assignments and exams for the term, which is nice, but that means he has more time for his Christmas job, and while he’s enjoying making money he’s not at all enjoying wrapping presents in a book shop.

It means being on his feet all day, it means customers unhappy with his wrapping technique or the wrapping paper itself, it means fucking Christmas music all day and the playlist is only two hours long so he hears it six times every day, and it means being so sick of everything Christmas that he wants to hibernate until January. And he’s only had four full days of work so far, only the weekends. Now he’s working every day. And it’s eleven days until Christmas Eve.

This morning started worse than usual, too. 

He slipped in the shower, and while he miraculously didn’t fall or break anything, he rammed the funny bone on his right arm into the wall and nearly howled with the pain. It felt numb and weird for ages, too, making him drop his mug on the counter while pouring his coffee, so he had to clean that up. Even eventually woke up, wondering what the fuck all the noise was about, and looked so adorably sleepy and pouty that Isak had to kiss him quite a few times. After all that, of course he was late for his tram.

Well, the tram was late too. It had snowed again. Isak got snow inside his boots, speed wading to the tram stop, and then stood shivering for fifteen minutes until the tram finally showed up.

While he keeps a pair of sneakers at work, he doesn’t have spare socks there - he made a mental note to bring some - and so he spent most of the day with wet toes while wrapping a few tonnes of books and board games and ridiculous shit like so-called funny mugs and scented candles. He hates scented candles. His hands reek after handling them all day.

The customers are growing worse, too. He’s supposed to wrap the shit in a particular way, tying the ribbon diagonally, and apparently that pisses some people off. He doesn’t know how to wrap a present more fancy than that. At least he can offer to give the customer paper and ribbon to bring home and do it like they want it themselves, as long as he offers with a polite smile.

By the time he drags himself up their street, where the snowplow has done a rather cursory job, he’s making plans to get filthy rich and go somewhere warm where they don’t celebrate Christmas.

Isak closes the door to their hallway behind him and leans back on it. Finally. Home.

Where Even is very much present.

He practically jumps Isak, taking the couple of metres from their room to the door in one ridiculously long stride, cupping Isak’s face in his hands and peppering his mouth and cheeks with little kisses before he lets go and grins wide enough to split his face.

“Honey, I’m home?” Isak offers a little weakly.

“Indeed you are! Home with the best boyfriend in the world, who’s brought lussekatts from work!”

Oh, right. Saint Lucy’s Day is today. Black the night descends and all that.

“Uh, Even? I’m not really a huge fan of lussekatts.”

Even’s face falls a little and Isak bends to untie his laces. He hates being the cause of stealing Even’s happiness away. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should just have eaten the damn things. He’s chewed his way through lots of them over the years, to be polite. Why the fuck couldn’t he just have done that again.

He’s been quiet for too long to salvage the situation, too, but when he straightens up he apparently can’t let go, because his mouth goes “But I’m sure they’re good. I can have one.”

A few heartbeats, and then he remembers to add a thank you.

And there stands Even, looking all  _ concerned. _

“Don’t you like saffron? It’s okay if you don’t, of course.”

“Saffron?”

“The spice. You know. That turn them all yellow.”

“Oh. I thought that was called turmeric.”

Even’s mouth pulls into an O.

“ _ Turmeric? _ Is that what you’re used to in lussekatts?”

Isak is starting to tire of standing in the hallway discussing baked goods. He wants dinner and coffee or maybe a beer, and to put his tired feet up.

“The yellow stuff, yeah. I’ve baked them with mum.”

“Oh ye heathen. Turmeric is yellow too, sure, but you use  _ saffron _ in lussekatts. It tastes completely different. It’s almost bitter, kind of savoury. Saffron is  _ sweet _ and lovely.”

Isak steps around Even, into their kitchen, sniffing the air and eyeing the counter for evidence of dinner in the making, finding a pan of baking veg and sausage in the oven. Relieved, he turns his attention back on Even.

“So why did mum use turmeric, then? If you’re supposed to use saffron?”

“Lots of people do, apparently, because they think yellow is yellow. She probably learnt it from  _ her  _ mum and never realised the error of her ways. Dad practically had a fit a few years ago when he was googling recipes and all of them said that saffron could be replaced with turmeric.”

Even comes into the kitchen too, crowding Isak up against the counter.

“The ones we sell at work are proper ones. With saffron. We’ll have them after dinner and you’ll realise you’ve been missing out. I’ll bring your poor mislead mum some, too, if we still have them this weekend.”

He leans his forehead against Isak’s.

“Not so great day at work?”

“Not so great, no. You?”

“Okay. No scaldings, mostly nice customers, lots of lussekatts.”

Isak has to smile. He rubs the tip of his nose against Even’s, trying to say sorry without saying it, and gets a kiss on the corner of his mouth back.

“When’s dinner ready? Oh shit, thank you for making it. Sorry for being, you know.”

“In a mood.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I’ll feed you and we’ll watch something nice. Maybe a Christmas film.”

Isak successfully swallows a comment about being sick of fucking Christmas. Truth be told, as long as Even is delighted with something, he’s delighted with it himself. At least a lot of the times.

Even glances at his watch.

“It should be done in fifteen minutes. You want a shower? Or I can serenade you with the Lucia song while we wait?”

Actually, a shower is not what Isak wants. He can do without the serenade too, to be honest.

He’s been rubbing his nose against Even’s ever so slightly scratchy cheek, breathing in the mixed smell of food and the coffee Even has been making all day, and something that’s just Even, and he’s tingling a bit.

This is one of the effects Even has on Isak: turning him from worn out and tired of everything to happy, with just a cuddle and a few words. Turning Isak on just by standing there, hands lightly on his waist, lips almost but not quite touching his cheek.

Isak slips down between Even’s hands, sinks to his knees, back a little uncomfortable against the kitchen drawer handles, and looks up.

Even’s mouth is an O again.

“Is that, uh, do you…”

“I’m gonna blow you now.”

“Okay.”

Even leans forward, hands on the counter, eyes wide as he looks down at Isak unceremoniously pulling his sweatpants down to his ankles.

“I don’t mind this at all, but what brought it on?”

Isak isn’t sure himself. He just needed something, anything, something more than standing close to Even and waiting for dinner to be ready. He needed to show Even that he adores him. He can’t really find the words, he just wants this.

He tugs Even’s briefs down. Not too fast, so Even can back out, if he wants.

Not that he seems to want that, his eyes are glued to Isak’s hands now and the tip of his tongue flicks over his lips. He’s breathing is getting heavier.

Isak would have liked to keep watching Even’s face, but he needs to look at Even’s dick, too. It’s half hard and Isak could swear it keeps filling out before his eyes. Even’s thighs are right there, too, long and lean and sparsely haired, gorgeous to touch. 

He strokes Even’s thighs, enjoying the soft hairs and smooth skin under his palms, slipping his hands in between them to tease behind Even’s balls with just his fingertips, strokes back around his thighs and up, so he can get a proper hold of Even’s ass.

Isak could do this all evening and not get bored, to be honest. Just touching Even’s skin, for hours on end.

Even makes a small sound and Isak glances up to see that he has closed his eyes and is furrowing his brows. His dick is fully hard now, straining upwards against his sweater.

What better way to spend some time near the end of a day that’s been annoying at best.

Isak leans forward, nuzzling into the hair around Even’s dick. It’s softer than his own, like Even’s hair everywhere is softer than his, and he smells of warm skin and a little of shower gel and just a tiny bit of sweat.

If Isak could fit all of Even into his mouth, he would.

Isak noses up Even’s dick, feeling it jump a little as he stick his tongue out to give it a small lick, all the way up it until he gets to the tip. There’s a bead of precome there already, and he sticks his tongue out again and laps it up.

He wouldn’t say he  _ loves _ the taste of Even’s precome or come, but it’s close. Even though it’s not really a great flavour, and it leaves him with a dry ghost of a slightly bitter taste in his mouth once he’s swallowed. It’s not the taste itself, probably. It’s that the semen is Even’s, and that Isak is the one who makes it drip out - eventually, hopefully, probably, spurt out. Isak can do that. Isak can make Even feel like that.

Isak isn’t sure if he’ll ever get over having this, being with Even. It’s bad when it’s bad, but it’s almost never bad, and it’s fucking amazing when it’s good.

He draws his tongue over the head of Even’s dick, noting a swallowed-down groan from above, and moves his hands to Even’s hips, holding on. He has to raise himself a little to get his mouth over the tip of Even’s dick, deliciously filled out.

Isak sucks at the head, lets up again and presses his tongue against the frenulum, rhythmically, goes back to sucking.

Under his hands, Even’s hips tremble and then go still.

Isak knows very well that a quickie in the kitchen is one of Even’s favourite things. If -  _ when _ \- they get a decent-sized kitchen with room for a proper table Isak is going to insist on fucking on that table, and he has no doubt that the suggestion will get Even out of his clothes faster than ever. That thing for kitchens isn’t something Isak understands, but he’s not complaining. Not at all.

Neither does he doubt that having Isak on his knees, pressed up against the kitchen drawers and practically clinging to the sink, is turning Even on like few other things.

The now steady stream of precome on his tongue is kind of a hint.

Isak stretches his neck and lets go of Even’s hips, cups his balls in one hand and uses the other on the part of Even’s dick he can’t fit into his mouth. Even’s dick fills his mouth, all the way back to his throat, he changes his angle and it fills his cheek, he sucks hard and draws his tongue around it as best he can, his entire existence is his mouth and Even inside it.

His jaws are starting to ache, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing but the taste and the feel matters. The spit-wet skin in one hand, the wondrously soft weight in the other, the hard leaking dick on his tongue.

Isak is so hard that it’s an ache in itself, and his hips move on their own accord, hunting for something he can rub up against, but there’s no handy leg near his crotch. Mentally cursing, he lets go of Even’s balls and shoves his hand down his jeans, into his boxers, sweet sweet relief of warm skin against his boner. It’s an uncomfortable fit, the jeans are on the skinny side, but he doesn’t care. He can rub his palm against his dick and it’s heaven.

A little too heavenly.

Isak wants to draw it out more, but he can’t seem to stop his hands, or his mouth. A tingle rushes through him, and above him, Even groans and his dick jerks in Isak’s mouth, and then Isak’s mouth is flooded with Even’s come. He swallows and swallows around Even’s dick, forgetting the hand he has on it, but still moving the hand down his jeans mindlessly. And just like that, the wave rolls over him, all of his body but his tingling dick suddenly feeling far away and zoned out while he comes, and comes, in his boxers.

Isak lets Even go and sits heavily down on his heels, once it’s over. He drags his hand out of his jeans and wipes it on his hoodie. The hoodie needs washing anyway. He leans his head back against the drawers and draws a deep, shuddering breath, still tingling. His cheeks are hot and his body is heavy and it’s almost too much of a bother to open his eyes, but he does, and sees Even leaning on the counter above him.

They both just stay where they are, for a few moments. Even’s heavy breathing slows down. He straightens up eventually, lets go of the counter and glances at the oven. His eyes go wide again, and he flings himself forward over Isak, who reflexively curls up and covers his head with his arms. Even grabs the kitchen towel, yanks the oven door open and rescues the pan with their dinner.

“It hasn’t burned! Shit. Ow.”

Even drops the pan on the stovetop from a little too much height, a couple of pieces of vegetables flying out, and turns off the oven.

Isak dares to lower his arms.

“Can we agree to not toss hot things around just over the head of our boyfriend? Maybe?”

“Agreed.” Even laughs. “Sorry, but I noticed that the sausages looked like they’re were getting burned.”

“It’s okay.” Isak gets to his feet, his knees aching a bit, and then he nearly ends up on the floor again, as a laugh takes him over.

“What.” Even doesn’t sound too impressed, but it takes a minute before Isak is capable of talking again.

“Put your clothes back on, Even.” He can’t hold back another giggle. “You’re standing there folding the towel like everything’s normal and your sweats are still around your ankles.”

Even shrugs, but the corner of his mouth twitches as he pulls his briefs and sweatpants back up.

It’s a very domestic and mostly quiet evening after that. They eat their dinner. Isak volunteers to do the dishes. Even volunteers to make coffee. Isak tidies the duvets so they can sit comfortably in bed watching a film. Even refrains from singing the Lucia song. Isak sings it, the one and a half verse he remembers.

Even fetches their coffee mugs and his lussekatt, and breaks off a piece for Isak. Isak chews it, admits that it’s not like the ones he grew up with, then snags the entire bun while Even is scrolling through Netflix.

Even has three more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed and kinda hurried. So.
> 
> A [lussekatt is a type of saffron bun](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saffron_bun), traditionally made for Saint Lucy’s Day. Far too many Norwegians think turmeric is an okay replacement for the expensive saffron. Hmph.
> 
> The title (and a couple of other mentions) is from the [traditional Santa Lucia song](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Lucia).
> 
> I'm [skamskada](https://skamskada.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come say hi!


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